The War Prize
by The Junkiest Toon
Summary: Lu Ten survives the Siege of Ba Sing Se, the Raids on the South Pole, and the Fire Lord's wrath when he claims a young waterbender and her mother. AU.
1. Iroh: The Love of a Father

The War Prize

Lu Ten survives the Siege of Ba Sing Se, the Raids on the South Pole, and the Fire Lord's wrath when he claims a young waterbender and her mother. AU.

*Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: the Last Airbender. Sadly.

"Your son has returned."

General Iroh, Dragon of the West and Crown Prince of the Fire Nation, looks up from his map of the yet unconquered northeastern corner of the Earth Kingdom and smiles at his lieutenant. "Good—he's earlier than I expected. The southern winds must be favorable. Thankfully, he can still join in the celebration of our victory, and luckily for us all, I have discovered a sungi horn in the tribute from our new colony. Where is my Lu Ten now?"

His lieutenant, a man called Jee, is a man of exacting propriety and tradition, but he seems more stiff than usual as he hesitates. "He is coming through the upper tier of the city as we speak, but sir—" and again the man hesitates, running a hand over a mustache that is just beginning to gray.

Fear strikes Iroh and although he is a strong man, a powerful man, the Dragon of the West, he clutches his heart as if afraid it will give out. "Lu Ten—he is not—?" It has been six months since his last letter, six months since Lu Ten lead the skirmish against the South Pole, and Iroh fears his son will return to him a lesser man than he was. Wounded. Or scarred.

Lieutenant Jee cuts off his train of thought with a rambling apology. "No, sir, nothing of the sort, no, no. Your son is—is fine. But—he—he returns with _the _waterbender."

Assured of his son's fate, curiosity now piques him and he sits down heavily on the throne that once belonged to Ba Sing Se's child-king. "The South Pole's last waterbender? So he does exist?"

"Apparently, sir, _she_ does. He brings her with him in his entorage, but unbound. I saw it myself."

Iroh starts. "Unbound? In a newly captured city? Is he a fool?" He _knows _Lu Ten knows that the Dai-Li are still unaccounted for, and that the Earth Rebels would be overjoyed if a waterbender assassin murdered the conquerer of their Ba Sing Se. Or the conquerer's son.

"A fool who also returned with the waterbender's mother."

"_What?" _This Iroh cannot believe. There have been men who have claimed water or earth women as concubines, but there is no honor in claiming such flesh, and Iroh thought his son had learned the worth of honor. He dismisses Jee. He detachedly watches the length of a candle burn down to a flickering flame in ivory wax, feeling the weight of each of his graying hairs, and waits for his son.

Lu Ten enters with the confident stride of a Fire Nation prince through the blackened wreckage that is still the Earth Palace doors, not pausing to gaze upon the still steaming frame. "General-Father!" he cries out, laughing at himself.

And he is whole and handsome and smiling, and Iroh's heart leaps to see him. "Son!" he cries, standing and embracing him as tight as his mortal arms could bear. His son smells like salt and fresh rain. And then he lets him go and gazes at the life of his life. Lu Ten looks, not happier than he has seen him in years for Lu Ten is a happy child, but more content, more at home with his self. The water woman, Iroh supposes, is the cause.

Lu Ten's eyes crinkle in fondness. "Father," he says, and how Iroh loves that word! "I salute you on your victory. You will forever be remembered and honored for your conquest of Ba Sing Se. Or is it Dragon's Keep, now? Your soldiers seem to have christened the city in your honor."

Iroh laughs goodnaturedly. "We'll see if the name keeps when the sake has left them. I actually plan to rename the city New Azulon, to honor my father. The christening is tomorrow."

"If we survive the victory sober perhaps we'll attend."

Together they laugh, but Iroh can see that is son is anxious, distracted. He keeps breathing in deep breaths (a trait Iroh taught him for meditation), so Iroh asks gently, "Is it the water tribe woman that troubles your mind, son?"

His son lets out the air in his lungs, and rubs his hands together. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised that the gossip has traveled this fast. Yes, it is the water tribe woman that is on my mind. I've claimed her as mine, father—"

Iroh closes his eyes.

"—And I've claimed her daughter. The waterbender."

Iroh opens them. "The waterbender, my son? High status war prisoners cannot be claimed for the seraglio, nor for servants. The law of our nation is that the war prisoner go to either Capital City Prison or the Boiling Rock; there is absolutely nothing that can be done for that."

"I have named her my heir."

The words are short, clipped, but they sound long in Iroh's ears. "Oh, my son—oh, my son, oh my son ohmyson."

But Lu Ten seems immune to his horror. "She will be safe from our prisons. Naming her my heir will protect her."

"But my son," Iroh whispers, "What will protect you?" For Iroh knows the history of the war and his beloved nation, knows the wrath of his beloved father, knows the burn of his beloved fire.

It takes only a few seconds to make his decision. "Undo it," he begs, no, he orders. "Undo your claim that the waterbender is your bastard child and perhaps all can escape unscathed."

All the pain in the world is held in Lu Ten's golden gaze. "That I cannot do. For you, Father, I would, but the mother—well, the mother."

And that is that. There is silence while Iroh tries to recover from his son's refusal.

"She is here now," Lu Ten offers. "Her and the waterbender. See them, please. _Father_."

Then, at the door, there is a woman, carrying the limp bundle of a sleeping child, the size of his niece or smaller—he had not realized the long-sought waterbender would be so _young_—both dark-skinned and in water tribe garb. The woman is very beautiful with tired blue eyes that arrests his gaze. He can see why his son is so besotted, and for an instant, the torch-flames in their sconces jet two feet upward.

The woman recoils away from the rushing heat and brilliance of the fire, stumbling slightly with her child. The firelight glints off of a water tribe stone at her neck, strung with a well-worn ribbon. Iroh recognizes it for what it is—a promise, an engagement, a marriage—all to another; _oh my son, _his spirit cries out, for there is certainly no honor in this, _what have you done? _Lu Ten crosses the room, and against the glow, the silhouette of Lu Ten's hand drifts at the woman's waist, his stance leaning into his hers. From his vantage point, Iroh can see what Lu Ten does not—that the woman allows the hand but stiffens.

The woman turns, and then it is the child who draws his attention. Though her face is shadowed in the curve of her mother's neck, nestled between lightless waves of hair and blue furs, Iroh can see the creased lines of sleep on her face. Small fingers are curled tightly around the water tribe pendant.

He remembers when Lu Ten's fingers were that small.

Something akin to curiosity stirs within him. He reaches for this child—the heir of his heir, the foreign of flesh, the water of his blood. His fingers barely outstretch before the mother flinches, drawing the child closer and tighter. He withdraws as well, feeling strangely old and tired as he has never felt before. The mother doesn't take her eyes—blue so very blue—off of his hands; she clasps the child to her chest tighter and tighter, white knuckled, until he protests and the child cries out.

Swift and sure, Iroh's hands find themselves around the child's ribcage, prying at the mother's hands with greater strength until the child is pulled from her arms into his own. She is a comfortable weight, lighter than she should be. Visions of tea parties and shopping trips and a small hand in his dance in his head. Lu Ten steps forward then, but Iroh sharply waves him off, and takes his first true look at the child.

It's so painfully obvious that she's a water child. Her skin though dark, mirrors the sheen of the moon, and her hair, loose and long, is less hair than it is ink—though not so much in color as in texture—it falls in waves and rivulets and streams. And her eyes are her mother's, beautiful, defiant; he can already tell that she reminds him more of Zuko than Azula. She's a beautiful child, but there is no hiding what she is, what danger she presents for them.

"Her name is Katara," Lu Ten offers, and the child—Katara; foreign syllables, light flicks of the tongue, the click of ice over rolling water—turns towards the sound of his voice. She is wide-eyed and alert, cautionary. Her breathing rough, shallow. Iroh's study sharpens, cataloguing her paling face and expanding pupils. With a careful hand, he spans her rib cage, prodding tenderly at each bone in the practiced manner of a soldier who has doctored many injuries. During this exchange, Katara does not cry out until he reaches her left ribs, but then the aftermath has her trembling. She is a brave one.

Iroh sighs. "Her left ribs, third and fourth, are bruised," he says, and if his voice holds blame, so be it. "She should have those ribs bound and iced." He glances at Lu Ten, but his son's concern is directed towards the mother. He follows his gaze. The mother's face is bloodless, but her eyes are not on her hurting child; instead, they are on his own hands, on their close proximity to her child's beating heart, on the flames embroidered on his red cuff, and he knows she does not see the hands of a medic or grandfather on her child, but the hands of the Dragon of the West, bender of fire and destroyer. But then, he was not the one who bruised the child's ribs.

"Ice will ease your pain," Iroh asks softly. "Can you form a brick of ice, little waterbender?"

Katara is silent, but she visibly starts at the request. Her lips thin, her eyes thin, and a look of stubbornness Iroh had only associated with his nephew crosses her face. She looks towards her mother.

Iroh waits. Katara does nothing. Iroh's patience does not wane.

The stalemate is broken by Lu Ten's intervening. "I do not think her bending was encouraged. And she does not speak," he adds softly.

"She does not speak?"

Lu Ten sighs. "Not yet. Not to me. Not to _us. _But she will." The latter is said with the confidence of a Fire Nation prince. "She will learn to." He hesitates before leaning forward, each word hushed with reverence. "We mean to be a family, father. We ask for your blessing and protection. I have claimed Katara daughter. May Katara claim you Grandfather?"

"No—" Iroh looks at the child's eyes, such beautiful, gleaming, very blue eyes, and is very aware that he has blinded such eyes before in realms of snow and ice. These eyes evoke not redemption but condemnation, and Iroh is old and wise and foolish enough to know that to embark on this path is to submit to his demons of conscience. He glories in his ancestry, in the weight of his grandfather's crown in his hair. To walk with his son he must diverge from his father, and that is something he cannot yet bear. But he looks at her and sees his nephew. "—But she may call me Uncle. Come, now. Our little waterbender needs a medic, son. Let us see to that." He bows his head at the child but his eyes are on his son.

There is a flurry of movement as the mother noiselessly reclaims Katara, and Lu Ten clasps him on both shoulders, laughing. "Well then, let us! And then let us celebrate your victory! Ah father, our worries are behind us!"

But Iroh sees how his son looks at the water tribe mother, how the mother looks anywhere else, how the child looks at the moon. And he worries for them all.

*Thank you for reading! This fic is meant to be multi-chaptered, but if you want another chapter, YOU HAVE TO REVIEW. That's how it works. Bonus points will be given to people who visit my blog listed on my profile—I'm willing to do requests and suggestions if you comment. Just throw me a message :D

I mean this fic to explore the impact (positive or negative) a young Katara would have on Lu Ten, Iroh, Zuko, Kaya, Ozai, Azulon, Azula, Ursa, etc. For this first chapter, I thought it important that Iroh agrees to help, not for Katara or Kaya, but for Lu Ten. Don't worry though, there will be PLENTY of Iroh-Katara/ Zuko-Katara/etc. interaction later on. PLEASE, please, please REVIEW! Let me know if you like how the plot is going, how you are liking my characterization of Iroh, Kaya, Lu Ten, etc. I personally think that Iroh would not be as "open" without losing Lu Ten, so this Iroh is more soldier than calm tea-drinker, but I would like to hear your opinion.


	2. 2: BlueEyed Strangers

*Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: the Last Airbender. Sadly.

It takes less than three days for Iroh to love Katara. It is not a tempered love, a tried love, for Iroh still tries very hard not to measure his obedience to his Father against his affection for a little girl. Instead, he chooses to measure the span of time in Katara's smile—initially, infinitesimal, but the fleeting span of seconds grows with each rising day. Her smiles carry the free forgiveness of a child; all smiles reserved solely for the wan mother, who lingers as a shadow near Lu Ten, but it is Iroh who pockets the unclaimed smiles.

Those three days are spent in the finest, unspoiled rooms of the remnants of the Earth King's Palace. The room is yet tiled with green glass, but the walls are newly trimmed with the image of home in red and gold silks. Immediately, Katara is monitored by his personal physician, a man known for his gentle demeanor. Her ribs are soon taped and she is given instructions to restrict her movements to the cushioned settee for the next two days. The physician's gaze turns to the mother—Kaya, Iroh later learns, though he learns the name not from her lips but from his son's—and he diagnoses that she is suffering from an acute psychological trauma. Lu Ten immediately spirits her away to the finest health spas Ba Sing Se still has to offer, while Katara is restricted to the chambers.

Seeing her lone, small blue form surrounded by foreign materials and colors, Iroh pities her. He orders that Katara be supplied with packets of ice and chilled glasses of sweet tamarind (both a true rarity in the heart of the Earth Kingdom, let alone a war zone, but Iroh is a well-seasoned expert of cost vs. worth—the sweet tamarind is not only enjoyed but _relished, _and Iroh feels the richer for it_). _ Iroh continually plies her with dishes of egg custard, ginger tarts, and candied papaya, in hopes that such treats will stave off both the impending boredom and any residual fear of her surroundings. The obstinance of a child, Iroh relearns, is not to be underestimated—Katara accepts the dishes, but remains mute.

Thus, Iroh talks for the both of them. He declares to his lieutenants that he is suffering an _elephantine_ hangover from the victory party, involving an obscene amount of jasmine tea, fire whisky, and cactus extract, and thus, should not be disturbed unless there is an ambush from the Dai-Li (a prospect that gets unlikelier every day). Free from his political obligations, Iroh is free to sit on a cushion opposite his blue-eyed obligation and talk. He plans his one-sided conversations with strategic importance, recounting stories that would first intrigue: lore of peasant-heroes, of great wish-granting fishes, and of ferocious, master-dragons with unquestionable wisdom. He then tells her tales to shock a reaction: what particularly racy jokes his tailor told to him that day, the best bargain he ever shopped (a pair of ruby jaguar totems), gentle, harmless secrets about himself—how he prefers jasmine tea best but ginseng eases his stomach; he talks and talks and talks until he is certain Katara must be as sick of not talking as she must be of listening. He is mid-sentence describing the economic growth of an industry which he's forgotten on an island he cannot name, when Katara speaks.

Rusty from disuse, it is more of a rasp than a voice, and Iroh has to strain forward to hear it. "I like the papaya—the papaya chips? I like it. Could I have some more?"

Iroh stumbles to not look so surprised, but frowns inwardly. By her expression when she had tried them, he had surmised that she had not enjoyed the candied sweet. He had instructed the cooks not to prepare any more, but this was her request—"Of course, little Waterbender. You may have some more." Under the stillness of Katara's blue eyes, he summons a servant to bring a small tray of the candied papaya, and additionally to bring one at each meal.

Her "thank you" is so quiet it is almost lost in the scuffle of requests. Almost. And Iroh was pleased at this victory, as he knows it is no small victory to win against a stubborn child, as it is no small victory to win against a stubborn earth wall, and contemplates what he imagines the child will say when the tray arrives. The trays are brought, and he looks over to Katara to find her sprawled over the settee in what would appear to be the deepest of sleeps, if it were not for the roughness of the breathing and her too-tightly pinched eyes. That, Iroh concluded, was her indication that it was time for him to leave. Indulgently, Iroh smiled, called out a "Good night, little Waterbender", and left to attend to the myriad of duties he had been neglecting as a general.

The morning of the second day, he returns to find Katara mute as ever, despite the empty, sugar-dusted trays. He has had his experience with stalemates, however, so he claims his cushion and proceeds to play the sungi horn very badly. Katara's face grows gradually pinched, and Iroh is mentally congratulating himself when he sees her open her mouth once more, when Lu Ten wearily enters the room and sprawls across his settee. Seeing Lu Ten without his blue shadow is disconcerting; more so is the lines of worry that have crossed his face.

"We just saw the physician again, Father," he whispers. "Kaya still won't eat."

Iroh's gaze swings from his son to Katara, expecting the words to cause distress. But the waterbender's face is smooth, placid as glass, with eyes lowered to her hands as she quietly orders another plate of the candied papaya.

Later that night, as the moon gradually slivers into dawn, Iroh does not sleep, but ponders fitfully. He has received a summons from his Father, for "himself and his _household _to answer to the Lord of the Nation of Fire"_. _Rumors fly fast, Iroh knows, but these flew faster than he was prepared for. He needed more time, more time than for his time with the waterbender to have been more than a mere pleasant respite, for although she is charming in her stubborness, Iroh's affections and loyalties are not won by mere charm. His father has summoned him to his homeland, and there there will be a price to pay for Katara—but is he willing to pay that price?

Darkly, he fears he is not.

Admitting this to himself is no great confession, rather it is a thousand small doubts that hook themselves into his brain like flaccid worms, and Iroh knows he is the lesser for it. But to do otherwise would be risking a sin against his Father and country—a, a _banishment_ from all he loves, and how could he possibly, possibly, face that? He cannot, and so cannot face his Father's reckoning. He prepares himself for the confrontation he will surely have with his son, but he has seen the growing thinness of Kaya the Water-Tribe Woman, and he has seen too many war widows fade to corpses to believe that this outcome will be different. It is naught but a sad, bitter truth, but Iroh squares his shoulders to face this truth headlong. His son, he believes, will eventually see likewise.

Decision made, Iroh awaits a slumber that does not come, though his doubts do. He shrugs off his coverlet and takes to walking the halls, shrugging off his guards. He pauses before the entrance to the room where mother and daughter sleep; he enters.

He sees daughter embracing mother, her narrow shoulders supporting the wealth of the mother's weight, hair falling forward like a sheltering curtain. Mother clings to daughter. An eye of the storm, Iroh thinks, seeing the two blue forms coalesce against the isolation of the moonlit room. He sees a small brown hand lift chips of sugared fruit to a weakened mother's lips, weaning her on small golden delights. It is a moment that Iroh privately attests to as being truly sacred—an absolute testament of loyalty, of family, of love—it speaks of _sustenance_, complete and filling. It humbles him like nothing he has never known.

And just like that—less than three days.

In those moments backlit by the blue of moonlight, Iroh recants his decision. He still refrains from making _the _crucial decision—a father's love against a child's life—but instead he embarks on a plan to embrace the two.

Iroh returns to his room and pens a scroll conveying his testament of his loyalty for his father and his nation, and bearing news of the blessed additions to his household. He writes that he anxiously awaits his father's blessing, and sends the scroll by the fastest message hawk he owns. He and his house will arrive in his homeland in three weeks.

He will, he thinks, introduce his nephew to Katara.

*Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed! I truly appreciate all of the comments made! I am so sorry for the long wait—I told myself I couldn't write until I finished a project I was working on but REALLY didn't want to do. Fortunately, project is done, and postings should come MUCH more quickly.

Please tell me what you thought of this chapter! Next chapter—the journey to the Fire Nation and backstory on Hakoda and Sokka. Thank you!

Responses to the commends made:

Sesshomaru-sama's lover—Um…sorry it took me so long. Next one will b much sooner, promise! Thank you for reviewing.

Guest 2—Thank you for what you said about reviews—I truly appreciated it, so thank you, thank you.

Being Who I Wish I Was—Thank you so much! I WILL post more often.

Konoha Kid—Thank you for the compliment! Will do!

Guest 1—oops! Sorry for taking so long, will be much better, promise!

Nightmarish—Kaya speaks next chapter—she is such a strong and fascinating woman, but she is under SO much stress—particularly with about what happened to Hakoda and Sokka. I'm glad you brought up her strong characterization—it gave me a lot to think about. Next chap!

ArrayePL—News of Hakoda and Sokka next chapter! Don't worry, I would never forget my Sokka!

Greader—I plan to incorporate some interesting Ursa-Katara relations, which Azula will blame for Katara for. I hope you'll like them!

ZutaraFanFE—Thank you! I'll do my best to keep posting!

Turion—I am very glad you mentioned the Lu Ten/Kaya relations and an equally benevolent/warrior Iroh. I'll address them next chapter. Thank you!


	3. 3: GoldenEyed Strangers

*Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: the Last Airbender. If I did, the series would be utterly Zutara. But don't let that turn you away if you're a Kataang fan. Please.

P.S.: It has come to my attention that the name of Katara's mother has two spellings—Kya, used by Mike and Brian; and Kaya, used by Nickelodeon on their website. Obviously, I've been using Kaya, and I find that I prefer the extra "a", so I'll keep using it, unless someone vehemently disagrees with this decision. And perhaps not even then. :)

* * *

Only a few days into the voyage, the ship is rocked by nightmares. Literally—the strength of Katara's fear bends the wealth of the ocean around the iron vessel. It is a fear shared by all but Kaya that she might unconsciously sink them all into the depths. For Kaya, the thought is too dangerously close to escape to be anything but appealing; she dams those thoughts as soon as they flow into her brain. There are other thoughts she dams as well—dams and damns: _Hakoda. Sokka. _The child (_Katara) _that sits next to her, and the child (_unnamed, unborn, unknown_) that once sat inside her before it gushed out in rivers of red against the white of snow. A miscarriage, said the doctors of Lu Ten.

A reckoning, she said. And her eyes spoke to Lu Ten what she could not say in front of soldiers of fire.

Yes, she blames him. Yes, she blames herself. The never-child—Hakoda's child—displaced during the attack of fire, evicted amongst the screams and deaths of her people. The pains of labor—too fast, too early—and the approach of a fire soldier with eyes of gold who tried to stem the life leaving her with his own hands. _Lu Ten. _Another damming, damning thought. The subduer of one child, the savior of another. And Sokka—she does not even know the fate of her eldest, her fiercest, her blue-eyed child.

And so Kaya dams and damns and prays and breathes, continues to breathe for Katara. She has lost the strength she had as a water woman, as a wife, but she remains a mother. For Katara, she begins to eat. For Katara, she begins to listen, to wait. Her nights are still foggy, but her days burn a bit starker. For Katara, she hopes for survival. For she knows now that there is a difference between living and alive, and if she wants to ensure the latter she must do the former. For everyday they speed closer to the Gates of Azulon.

She doesn't pray for her husband or her son, for one prays for the dead, not the living. But, sometimes, she catches herself praying to Tui and La to stop up their winds, to cast up a doldrums to halt them all. But then she remembers that it is an engine of fire and steam, wheels and steel, that thrusts them forward, not the common sail.

The prayer drowns in her throat.

* * *

There is a lullaby of the Water Tribe:

_Tears of my Blood_

_ Sweat of my Blood_

_ Salt of my Blood_

_ Water the Sea_

_ And Water Me_

It is a melody low, and long, meant to house many water tribe voices in harmonious choruses, a round that could encircle always, a forever circle of sea and surf. Katara palms the medallion of her people, stroking the grooves of haloing waves and the smoothness of blue ribbon, but she doesn't hear her voice in the melody, only the void of her people.

The absence is _palpable. _In the very air, she feels the ghosts and the near-ghosts—for how could she possibly know who is dead and gone and who is living? And do the living remain any less of ghosts?

Katara doesn't know. Doesn't ask. She fears what the answer would be. Her mother drowns her prayers and words in silence; Katara drowns her prayers and words in dreams of terror: bursts of flaming, bleeding scarlet; soldiers with masked faces of bone; the blackness of ash.

She dreams of heat and so bends ice. Yet this is done almost-ignorantly, oblivious to the ocean wrapping into astonishing heights until her nightmares break and the waves peel away to slam thunderously into the sides of the ship. It is a rhythm that could sink them all, Katara knows. As she knows all the sailors fear.

The Iroh-General-Uncle seems to sense that her nightmares get worse as the ship sails further on, for he sets up cushions around her cot and carries a tray of sweet Jasmine tea himself. Her mother has a separate room with Lu Ten, so it is the General who wipes away the sweat and tears brought by the nightmare. And he doesn't speak. Katara is grateful for that, that he doesn't speak. And he doesn't light a lantern. Instead, he sighs with her in the heaviness of the dark. In that dark, she haltingly but continually whispers of a brother, of a father, of a village going up in smoke to a silhouette that holds her hand.

Even in the dark, the General of fire—_Uncle_, she reminds herself again, and again, _Uncle_—covers his face. Even in the dark, Katara can tell that he turns away.

There is only one night when the General is not there when she gasps awake to the deafening sound of sheeting ice against iron. There is the sound of her stuttering cries—almost unrecognizable, even still—and the drumming roar. There is no hand against hers, no cloth against her brow. No one.

Katara has been a companion of No One since that first voyage taking her from her home. There is an angry solace to be found in aloneness, but there is naught but loneliness in this dark. Naught by vulnerability. There is no conscious decision to cry out for her mother, but the cry sounds in cornered echoes: _Mother! _

_Mama!_

And then there is a hand pressing against her brow, comfortingly, reassuringly, but this hand is warmer than her mother's, firmer than the General's, and she tears away, shaking, too frozen to scream.

Then a flame flickers in a palm, light blooming to showcase the tired face of _him. _The gentle soldier. The one called Lu Ten. Her fear doesn't lessen. This is the first she has ever been alone with him, her Savior/Stealer.

He misunderstands her fear. "Katara," he says, hoisting the flame closer to his face to flare over nose-bridge, cheekbones, eyes. Any closer and his hair would singe. "Katara—look. Look. It's me. Just me."

She doesn't move.

He crouches next to her cot, almost kneeling, and picks up her blankets from her floor. He takes one and awkwardly wipes at her hair and face. He tosses the sweat-soaked blanket across the floor. "Do you want a new one? I can get you

mine."

She shakes her head.

He eyes her critically. "I thought you wouldn't. I don't use my blankets either. I got used to the cold of the Pole—heavier furs, heavier blankets. I got used to the weight. But it's too warm now. We're in tropical seas. It must be worse for you, though." He smiles at her, a smile holding no secrets or agendas against the light.

And then he hesitates. "I heard you…asking for your mother."

Her gaze skitters away faster than light, focusing on a featureless expanse of wall.

"She's…not doing well. At this time. She's taking medicine. It makes her sleep through the night. She needs sleep, Katara, don't you think so?"

She looks back at him and only inwardly nods.

"Yes. She'll get well if she gets sleep. That's something that we both want. For her to get well. Katara," and there is the gentleness in his eyes again, "I could get you her sleeping draught. It's powerful, we'd have to water it down, but it might help. If that is what you desire."

Katara has seen the fog that clouds her mother's eyes, the numbness to her mind. Sometimes her mother forgets who she is. Who she herself is. Where she is. The night-terrors would cease, drugged away, but Katara does not want to forget to call out for her mother. No. No. No. No; Katara would sooner drown them all.

Lu Ten starts to laugh, holding out his still flaming palms in a gesture of surrender. "Just a suggestion, Little Fish."

He sounds just like his father. Katara relaxes back onto her pillow, expecting him to leave.

He doesn't. "My father used to tell me stories when I awoke in the night. Would you like to hear one?"

She doesn't answer. If he's like his father, there really isn't a choice.

"Water. Earth. Fire. Air. Long ago, a master of all four elements, the Avatar, acted as spiritual enforcer for the four nations. The last Avatar, was an Avatar of fire, Avatar Roku. Avatar Roku and his familiar, his dragon Fang, fought alongside Fire Lord Sozin, my great-grandfather—" Here he pauses to waggle his eyebrows at Katara. Despite herself, she giggles. "Actually, both are blood relations, but the Avatar—Avatar Roku—he attempted to contain a _volcano_—"

"Volcano?" Katara interrupted, inching towards him.

"Volcano—it's basically a mountain of lava; of fire. Sometimes, it explodes. It rains fire. Avatar Roku and Granddaddy Sozin tried to rein in the destruction wrought by this volcano."

"The mountain of fire."

"Yes. And while they held off the flow of the lava—a river of fire—poisonous gases seeped from the ground."

Katara gasps. It hangs in the air for a moment, a sound that inhabits the diminishing space between them. "No! The Avatar!"

"Avatar Roku and Fang both died, died together, but Granddaddy Sozin managed to escape. And somewhere, the Avatar was reborn into Air. And then with the War of the Air Nomads, he was reborn again."

Katara's eyes sparks. "Water!"

Lu Ten's eyes are equally alive. "Perhaps. Or maybe he's moved on to earth. Or fire. Or perhaps he's dead for good. Or perhaps he's a legend and never existed at all."

"He's alive," whispers Katara flatly, "to save us. My Gran-Gran said he's going to save us.

Lu Ten is very much like his father, and she sees his head duck when she mentions her Gran-Gran, but he hides it with grin. "Fair enough, Little Fish. But who is _us?" _

Katara's first thought is her mother; her second thought is herself; her third thought belongs to the dead. Her gaze rims over with ice and Lu Ten allows his fire to snuff out into the sodden dark.

* * *

It takes three weeks for Katara to call Iroh, Uncle.

It is a time that extends from that first solemn, sacred introduction in Ba Sing Se to the eighteenth night of their voyage. The afternoon of, they are mere hours from the Gates of Azulon. Tensions run high as a boiling point. Lieutenant Jee had made the comment that she needed to be "less water" before she reached the Capital, and the General interpreted that to mean shopping for crimson robes and ivory combs at the next available port. Lu Ten tries to curtail his efforts, but the General combines determination with efficiency, and although he returns with trunks of luxurious samite fans, tubs of talcum powder (to lighten her dark skin), and cartons of incense.

They camouflage her in silks and powder, lining her eyes with kohl, but neither the General or Lu Ten or Jee or her mother can manage the combs. Jee finally finds an oiler who has two daughters and who can manage the "ox horns," the double bun, with dexterity. Katara is seated upon a stool upon deck while the scarred man with calloused fingers gently separates strands. The end result is a lighter-skinned (though still obviously dark), outwardly cultivated Katara. Katara imagines herself as a doll—a doll of water for privileged girls of Fire. Lu Ten shows her to bow—in the intimate, familial way, and in the way of the devoted slave—he shows her both options for the Fire Lord's temper is variable. When the General congratulates her on her fluid form, she thanks him: "_General." _

He flinches, but it's the only rebellion she has.

That night, she feels his hand on her brow, but it is not her brow that is slick with fearful sweats, but his hand. There is terror in his eyes, and he moves with the fevered intensity of one awoken from sleep. "Katara," and his voice is urgent, so urgent. "Come above deck."

The night wind is cold, and the deck is empty save for the lone watchman who oversees them disinterestedly. She has forgotten her shoes, and the chill seeps through her toes into her bones. Hopping from foot to foot, she looks at her awakener but he is off-balance, distracted. He positions her in front of him, angles her shoulders straight. "You need to learn to redirect lightning," he says, and Katara is familiar enough with fear to recognize it. "You need to learn tonight."

Katara is silent while he mutters about the pure expression of lightning, while he demonstrates the flow of movement, while he compares it to waterbending. His hand extends from left fingertip to left shoulder to stomach to right shoulder than right fingertip. "The stomach," he whispers, "the sea of chi. It has to go through the stomach. Not your heart. Never your heart. Never, never."

Katara practices the form: left fingertip-left shoulder-stomach-right shoulder-right fingertip, for hours. The General corrects her breathing, adjusts a shoulder. They practice until night creams into a golden dawn, and both participants are shaking from exertion. When the General orders her to practice again, Katara stumbles to her knees. "_General," _she gasps, "_Please!" _

And then the General turns to face the bow of the ship. Turning, she can now see on the not-too-distant horizon, sheets of fire. The Gates of Azulon. She feels faint, but there is a hand at her shoulder to steady her. He is there to steady her: "Learn this, you'll live. You'll live. You'll live. Now, again."

At that moment, Katara's knees give out, and she slumps against him. Careful hands support her, cradle her. He kneels down, and brow presses against brow, sweat against sweat, and exhaustion meets exhaustion in a half-hearted embrace. In that moment, Katara—child of water, refugee of death—looks beyond the colors and heat of her conqueror and sees wholly, a guardian. An Uncle.

There is not a fiber of her being that is not shaking, that is not screaming out in protest, but Katara nods. The blaze from the sheets of fire shines off the water, and for a moment she glares against the light. She stands. Fingertip-shoulder-stomach-shoulder-fingertip.

They have now entered the Nation of Fire.

* * *

Note to everyone: I am very, very sorry that it took me so long to write and post this. I can't believe how long it takes me just to WRITE—to compose words and sentences and paragraphs. That, and going to school/working is not doing wonders for my free time. Nonetheless, I appreciate what you, as readers, give to me, and I will valiantly try to reciprocate your time and effort.

Also, yes, I made Kaya pregnant during the attack. Fanfiction gives me the right to do that—awesomesauce, yes? BTW, I wrote part of this really quickly, so let me know what you think works, whether you liked Katara's POV, etc. Send me your thoughts, your wishes, your complaints, your appreciation (hint, hint, haha). Next up: the Royal Family

Responses to comments made:

Guess Who—I am SO, SO, sorry it took so long…but school is kicking my butt. Just this week alone I had 5 papers, and MANY revisions due. So sorry, sorry, sorry. I did makes this chapter MUCH longer though, and next one we see the Royal Fam!

Nessa671—Thank you for asking me to update. The pleas pushed me to write, so thank you.

Grandiose6—Thank you for your wonderful review! So I'm going to go further into depth with Iroh and the Order of the White Lotus later—look out for some Jeong-Jeong and Piando soon. And don't fret about Hakoda/Sokka—I love them too much for anything TOO drastic.

Sweetgirl23—Thank you! I'm looking forward to Hakoda and Sokka. Just because Kaya doesn't know what happened to them, doesn't mean that Lu Ten doesn't know as well. ;)

Guest—Haha, I just blushed! Thank you! Iroh is the easiest (by FAR) for me to write, but I would like to know how I did with Kaya's. She's such a prominent part of canon, but she's so "unknown".

Kats02980416—Thank you! I'm excited for further Katara/Zuko interaction. And Azula/Katara interaction. I'm interested to see how they differ. Don't write off Hakoda/Sokka just yet.

Nephertiri—You made me smile ALL day. Thank you! I love your analysis of Lu Ten's impact—it's what made me want to write this story. There will be changes in this story because of Lu Ten, but I think there would be also be similarities—drastic, haunting similarities! (I'm so excited when we get about 2-3 more chapters in)

ArrayePL—Aw! Thank you! I love Katara and Iroh, I really, really, do. And Kaya (at least the way I've written her) is truly heartbreaking. She's a casualty of war in all senses of the word.

Sesshomaru-sama's lover—I am so glad to hear it! You can't imagine how happy it made ME to read your comment! I was having a crappy day too—school was sucky—and I read your review on the bus ride home and couldn't stop smiling. Thank you. Oh, you are definitely not delusional. Wink. Wink.

Sarah—Oh, thank you! (I didn't update "soon" but I will try to)

NarniaMagicLOTRDisneyLover—GREAT name, by the way. Thank you for the compliment! I'm glad you brought that point up, I hope I have made it less confusing. Please let me know if you have any more questions or concerns.

TARDISandTLOK—Thank you for the compliment! And that is sad—because I really want to know what the "TLOK" stands for! Hopefully you see this post so you can respond.


	4. 4: Kindred

*Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: the Last Airbender.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: So I am sick while I am writing/posting this, but it has been SO long, I thought I ought to go ahead and make use of this free time. However, I'm a little feverish, so let me know if things don't make sense, or if I write well while under medication. Please, please, please REVIEW!

Fic shout-out: DEFINITELY check out the beautiful fic by akavertigo "Tempest in a Teacup" (that fic inspired this fic). It's so haunting and gorgeous. You won't be sorry.

Advisement: listen to Blue Foundation's "Eyes on Fire" while reading…

_I won't soothe your pain, I won't ease your strain, You'll be waiting in vain, I got nothing for you to gain._

* * *

Lu Ten's vision blurs under the heat of the curtain of fire. He lowers his eyes before the throne of his Grandfather Azulon, Fire Lord of All, unwilling and even unable to express what is truly inexplicable—that he, the valiant soldier, brandishing his famous flaming sword in name of his country and family burned through fortresses of ice and countless men of water only to stop before the blue eyes of a water woman, with only one, inexplicable, unfathomable thought in his head: _Oma. _

Then the thought, as mysterious as it was familiar to the very core of his being, his very soul: _Shu. _

How could he express how, with ice splintering around him by a child as foreign and as alien as the woman in front of him, he had found _home. _ A conviction as tight in his lungs as the breath that births his fire. And so he had dropped his sword, balled up his nation's flag against the woman's—_Oma—_bloody side, but there was too much blood to be a mere wound, how it was _lifeblood _spilt, but not hers—a lost child, a neverchild, a miscarriage—how his soldiers closed in on the little waterbender—Oma's child, with those eyes, how could she be anything but— and how he, Lu Ten Agni, son of the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation and Dragon of the West, claimed both the woman of his life (lives?) and her child (his child? A recompense child) as his own, with no rational or logical reason _why_.

How in this living realm can he explain that?

Again, he hears his Grandfather ask the question: "Why, Lu Ten Agni, firstborn of my firstborn, have you claimed as your _flesh _that which is not? You have brought Water into the bloodline of purest FIRE!"

The curtain of fire spurts feet higher, thick and golden heat blistering in a show of fearsome displeasure. Against his left, Lu Ten can feel his kneeling father flinch, and he is instantly grateful that Kaya and Katara are yet safe beyond the throne-room doors. Lu Ten bows his head to the ground, letting his brow rest against the carpet—the abject show of servitude. "What's done is done, but I serve you and my nation as I ever have and ever will, Grandfather."

"What you have done amounts to treason!"

There is a silence golden with flame and breached only by its crackle. Lu Ten allows himself to drift to the fire's rhythm—like a frightened, scared heartbeat—and breathes in, out. In, out. He loses himself in visions of blue eyes that were once brown and gold eyes that were once green and promises of love that were destroyed with gushing blood. _Oma. Shu. _Dreams of life arising from death. _Kaya. Lu Ten. Please, oh Gods, oh please…_

"Father, I have captured the once-city Ba Sing Se and renamed in it your glorious name," says _his _father. Then, humbly, deliberately bowed, "Might I request an audience?"

The curtain of fire gradually lowers, incensed smoke peeling off the sides. There is a snarl, a sigh. His Grandfather palms two liver-spotted white hands together. "Audience granted."

Lu Ten is dismissed, with no smile, no word to inform of him of the fate of his blue-eyed family. He stumbles out the throne room door to the waiting area outside and sees two dark-skinned figures in red. The relief is palpable, he is trembling, oh he is trembling! And he steadies himself against a curtain, he prays that his father can appease his grandfather's wrath.

Hours later, Lu Ten is summoned to a family dinner. He is to bring "the woman" and "the waterbender."

* * *

At the dinner, the "waterbender" in question is seated across from a golden-eyed boy whose gaze is a little too curious and a golden-eyed girl whose gaze is a little too hostile. Prince Zuko, she learns. Princess Azula. To their left is seated a beautiful golden-eyed woman and a handsome golden-eyed man. Princess Ursa. Prince Ozai. Prince Ozai smiles at her—it reminds her of an arctic tigerseal; tigerseals have the jaws and power to kill their victims right off, she knows, but instead they prefer to drag the victim under the ice, jaws around their neck, let them drown. She lowers her eyes to her plate.

The "woman" in question is fighting off the effects of a calming draught administered by Lu Ten's doctors. She is beautiful, her blue eyes even more startling against a crimson backdrop, and the golden-eyed woman—Princess Ursa—looks sympathetically towards her; she herself is no stranger to a calming draught.

The blue-eyed daughters of water find the food too spicy, the conversation too barbed, the stares too ominous; the daughters of water are both a curiosity and a threat. "I hear you are called Little Fish," Prince Ozai remarks to Katara, before Princess Azula jumps in—"Maybe we should fry her, serve her with lemon."

"Enough," Iroh urged, holding up his hand. "What's done is done. They are kin."

"Brother, you cannot be serious," drawled Prince Ozai, "she is a _peasant. _A _water _peasant. And this famous waterbender of the South Pole we have sought for so long is no more than a child, with less skill than my Azula. If Lu Ten wants the woman, send her to the seraglio, and the child to the Boiling Rock. There is no need for this ridiculous charade to continue any longer."

Fire Lord Azulon, at the head of the table, spoke for the first time that night. "I will decide what is needed or not, my son. The woman and the waterbender have been claimed as kin, and _honor demands that they must be treated as such_."

Prince Ozai's eyes thin to slits. "You would have a waterbender on the throne? You would have a—"

"There is a difference," interrupts Fire Lord Azulon, fire blooming in the candlesticks, "between family and kin, as there is a difference between my will and yours! Honor must be satisfied. However! This honor comes with a cost. The integrity and purity of our family line has been threatened, has been neglected. There must be recompense."

Iroh closes his eyes and Lu Ten stiffens, as Fire Lord Azulon folds his hands. "It has been decided. Crown Prince Iroh, my firstborn, the Dragon of the West, has agreed to come out of retirement to besiege the North Pole in my name until he can claim it and all its lands for the Fire Nation. As for Prince Lu Ten, he may keep the woman and the waterbender, as he travels to the South Pole to establish the Southern colonies—this is your charge, Lu Ten, this is your allocation—a banishment from the Fire Nation for one year. You have a week to depart. And to you my son, Prince Ozai, I give the charge of New Azulon. It is a great and honorable task my son. You will surely show you are worthy of it."

The matter over, everyone is silent as Fire Lord Azulon returns to his dinner. Iroh does not meet his son's gaze. Prince Ozai's jaw is clenched as he looks at his father. Princess Azula smiles at the waterbender while she squeezes lemon over a fileted fish.

* * *

Once again, Katara's fate is circumscribed by time. Lu Ten, she, and her mother are to leave in seven days to their once-home of igloos and blues where they will plant flags of red and build houses of steel. Lu Ten will rule over what remains of neighbors and friends to establish the Southern Colonies.

Lu Ten attempts to fight off the worries of what bringing Kaya home will do her fragile mind by bringing his blue-eyed girls to his Grandfather's menagerie. It was a gamble, as he did not know how daughters of Water would take to animals of air. He needn't have worried—though Kaya's eyes are still bleary from the night-draught and nightmares, Katara's eyes brighten and spark—no longer like water, they seem like _fire. _She shouts and rushes past him, head turning, eyes widening, arm outstretching, the red silk of her robe glistening like feathers.

Above her head flies winged creatures of all shapes, sizes, colors—brilliant mazarine bluejays, large meow-hooting cat owls, petite white doves, reptilian iguana parrots, fluffy white screeches, cross-looking eagle hawks, and hundreds of other species and cross-breeds. Their plumage gleams like the brightest jewels—pearls, gold, sapphires, emeralds, rubies. It was his grandfather's pride and joy. Only a massive golden cage separates them from freedom and flight.

Katara's small fingers wraps onto the cage's slender, thinly spaced golden bars. Ferns and plumy blooms spill through some of the bars, and beyond that, Lu Ten could make out some baobab trees where some lizard crows roosted.

Panic seizes him. "Don't grab the bars!" Memories of lizard crows snapping off the fingers of childhood playmates flood through him. He jostles Kaya's trusting arm in the crook of his elbow, and almost breaks into a run when he sees the red-cloaked figure of his Grandfather—Fire Lord Azulon—watching silently in the corner.

Dazed, it takes him a moment to look back at Katara, and doing so, blinks. She is cooing at a lizard crow curled contentedly in her palm, naïve of any danger it may possess.

"You're a charmer," his grandfather remarks, but there's no quip in it.

Kaya anxiously, dazedly, tugs at his elbow, but Lu Ten hushes her. He wants to see this.

Katara, for her part, is startled and wary. Whatever unbridled joy she displayed earlier is under wraps, and it is only seeing her now that Lu Ten is stunned by the change. She watches his grandfather guardedly, but her palm, outstretched to the lizard crow, does not stiffen.

"There are not many that appreciate my birds," counters his grandfather, "and they certainly are not enchanted by just anyone. Do you have a favorite?"

Katara considers, points. "Those."

The Fire Lord follows her hand to see the green-backed, golden-headed sparrowkeets flying in patterned formations in the corner of the room. "Sparrowkeets. Songbirds. They soothe with song. Strange you would like such a bird, Little Fish."

Katara's arm goes taut, and the lizard crow hisses. She relinquishes it into the foliage and withdraws her arm from the bars. She turns and Lu Ten can see the charm he once saw during midnight tales of the Avatar—all dazzling eyes and impish grin. "But I'm not a fish, you see."

"No?" His grandfather is as dumbfounded as the impudent turn-around as he is.

She merely grins. Slowly, she raises her arms, so that the wide sleeves of her obi robe fall to look like silk wings. "I'm a bird!" And she prances off, arms flapping, out the menagerie door.

Well-played, Little Fish, Lu Ten thinks. Well-played. He leads Kaya out of the menagerie.

From this perspective, Lu Ten cannot see his grandfather consider his own magnificent birds and the gilded cage he has constructed for them.

* * *

Two days later, Fire Lord Azulon suffers a surprise appendectomy. His surgeons and healers are more than competent, and the surgery is a success. As custom, while he is healing, his kin is to surround his bedside with companionship and gifts. Katara is instructed to wash and dress, and then she shadows Lu Ten anxiously, lining up against the door to his chambers. Uncle goes in first with a gilded mirror, then the golden-eyed Prince Ozai and his family. The boy Prince Zuko looks at her curiously as he leaves to enter. He is carrying a box of what looks like gold, and he looks like he is about to drop it.

Time passes. Lu Ten gestures to her to enter. She can hear Prince Ozai hiss that she shouldn't be here, that it is kin only. It is a strange sight to see the oh-great Fire Lord pale against cushions. In an uncomfortable way, he reminds her of her mother. Or of Gran-Gran. She tries to push the thought from her mind, but she looks at him and sees him surrounded by jewels and mirrors and gold and silks and spices and looking completely irritable.

It is a moment where a lesser (or a greater) child would see that it is opportune—a moment ripened for revenge, where the victimizer receives his condemnation at the hands of the victim. Katara, now a water and a fire child, considers herself both a lesser and a greater child, so of course she sees this. She sees how vulnerable the Fire Lord seems under his healer's touch, how soothing a simple brick of ice is. Despite the shadows of guards and fire sages, she sees how relatively unprotected he is. The blood of her kinsman stirs in her blood and calls for her to act, to enact a terrible revenge with a dagger of ice.

But Katara, the lesser and greater child, despite all her other shortcomings, is compassionate. She pushes past the cries of her kindred dead to attempt to _exist _next to her kindred living. She tries to remember that she once thought of Lu Ten as gentle Uncle's son, and so thinks of Fire Lord Azulon as Uncle's father—as an extension of Uncle, whom Katara has by now admitted that she loves, loves like her mother, loves like Gran-Gran.

She excuses herself, and backs out the bedchamber door. She misses the panic on Lu Ten's and Iroh's faces for the breach in conduct and manners. While Iroh makes excuses for her behavior and attempts a segway tale about how his men were almost eaten by a serpent at an entry pass to Ba Sing Se, Lu Ten and several guards race after Katara. She makes it to her room and to the box seat by the window before Lu Ten catches up to her, but by then she has her secret stowed away and is marching out the door again, head high, glaring at the guards with raised swords. She pushes past them into the Fire Lord's bedchamber, but after she again sees the swath of red sheets, red carpet, she hesitates, but slips her fingers to the collar of her robe to bring forth her secret, and she sees the guards, suspecting a weapon, tighten their grip on their swords and spears, and the Fire Lord's face thin out in smug satisfaction—this was a test of betrayal he knew she would fail; she cups her fingers down her collar and brings out a fragile bundle of raggled feathers, and nudging the baby sparrowkeet with her fingers, she bends over the bed so the Fire Lord could see it. "I found him outside of my window," she whispers, embarrassed, "I thought you'd like to see him. He can't fly yet, but he sings. His name is Jee."

The Fire Lord laughs, which turns into a cough. "Jee?"

She nods, matter-of-factly. "After the Lieutenant."

The Fire Lord's face is focused, tight. "Everyone, out." With a wave of his hand, he dismisses all but his guards, who continue to watch her behind masks of steel and bone.

It uneases her, but Katara remembers a man who likes to see birds in flight as much as she does—"For kin of my kin," she says, thinking of Iroh. Carefully, oh so carefully, she brings her precious bundle towards the Fire Lord's hands, and brushes against them so that the sparrowkeet can hop from her palm to his. Fire brushes against Water, and there is no metaphorical impact; there is only the fluttering heartbeat of a bird and its gentle trill.

"Outside your window, you said?" the Fire Lord asks, rubbing a calloused thumb against a nut-thin beak.

"Hmmm," Katara agrees, ruffling Jee's neck feathers. "He must have fallen out of the nest."

The Fire Lord makes a sound in the back of his throat as the sparrowkeet (Jee) tries to nip his fingers. "Or his mother abandoned him."

Katara, impulsively, presses a quick kiss to Jee's (mostly) bald head. "He'll still grow up strong."

From her position, Katara cannot see the calculating look in the Fire Lord's eye. "Stronger, maybe—without her influence," he pauses a moment, "Baby sparrowkeets, when they lose a mother, will often imprint on the next thing they see—be it a turtleduck, or a waterbender, or a…Fire Lord."

Katara laughs, and a granddaughter's laugh is something the Fire Lord has had in short supply—Azula was never one for laughing. He relaxes and allows himself to enjoy it.

"He thinks I'm his _mother?" _She laughs again, as if it is the most bizarre thing she has ever heard (more bizarre than a waterbender in the Fire Palace, surely).

The Fire Lord smiles.

* * *

The next day, fever strikes down Katara. It is a seasonal thing, a common thing, and foreigners are usually the first struck down. She is a small child, smaller than her age would indicate, and the fever works through her quickly. Any danger is minimal, but by dawn, she is shivering against her sheets. Iroh is called for, and Lu Ten. Kaya they do not inform on the doctor's advice. So it is Iroh who dampens her brow with a practiced hand and ladles her ginseng tea well until the night, until her fever breaks and fevered dreaming returns to sleep. Exhausted by effort and by relief, Iroh helps himself to a little ginseng tea spiked with fire whiskey and rests his head against his hands, every so often casting glances to the gently sleeping waterbender. The fire whiskey turns his head, and he finds himself humming a very naughty ditty he learned as a youth in the barracks, about an old man and an eel.

"Not very appropriate for a child, my son."

Iroh starts awake in the settee to see his father looming over him—it is a surprise to see him up and about, and certainly here. "Father! Well—I—agreed," he attempts to laugh. "But this one is sleeping. Would you like some tea? I have some lovely ginseng, here—"

"Her fever is broken, then?" His father ignores his question and inches closer to Katara. He has a strange look on his face; Iroh trusts his father, loves his father, but having him in such close proximity to Katara makes his heart stutter. He remembers nightmares of lightning, and memories of teaching the sleeping child to bend lightning—an almost impossible thing, as only firebenders could bend lightning, but praying against hope that the energy could follow any bender's hand.

"Yes," Iroh hedges, eventually. "Our Little Fish is well again." His father looks stronger too, he thinks, healthier, than he had a few days earlier. Musing this, Iroh busies himself with a teacup.

"But surely not well enough to attempt another ocean voyage to the South Pole?" His father's inflection is flat, not truly a question.

"Lu Ten may want to postpone the voyage a week or two," Iroh mused, "if we are not imposing on your hospitality."

"No," his father said, yet in that instance he is not his father but Fire Lord. "The voyage will not be postponed. Lu Ten will leave with the woman for the Southern Colonies tomorrow, as you will leave to engage the North Pole shortly thereafter."

"Father, I do not think Katara is well enough—"

"The child," his father interrupts, "will stay."

Iroh's grip on the teacup almost falters. "Here? Without her mother, without Lu Ten? Father—" _Without Me, _is the silent question that remains on the air.

"Everyone will be gathered again for the summer solstice. You can all see each other then." His father's words are purposefully clipped, dismissive, as he turns from him.

"Almost a year," whispers Iroh, in horror, in shock. "With no family—"

His father whirls around, fire in his breath and in his words. "You were the one who claimed she could be as good as blood! That she could be kin! And yet you do not trust her with your own family! As per her _great-grandfather's _request, my _great-granddaughter _will stay here. This is my cost! Give word that your son should leave with the tide."

Numbly, Iroh bows his head and stands, watching as his father takes his place in the settee, and unfurls a closed fist to reveal in his palm, a raggled sparrowkeet.

* * *

So, Lu Ten and Kaya are the reincarnated lovers of yore. How does THAT development bode for ATLA as we know it? *hint* not well. Hakoda's still kind of in the picture, and we know what David did to Bathsheba's husband.

Next up: half of the Family leaves, half of the Family gets even closer...not to mention special guest appearances by Piando, Jeong Jeong, and *someone secret*….and summering on Ember Island! Yay! Any guesses to our secret guest? Again, I just love responses, so review, PM me, send me your wishes, your complaints, your appreciation (hint, hint, haha), anything you will like to see—I have a plan for this fic, but I'm also open to incorporating suggestions. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE review!

First line of next chapter: "It was Azula's thirteenth almost-murder attempt on Katara."

* * *

Responses to comments made: LOVE TO EVERYONE!

MagicalBender: Hope you liked the introduction with Fire Lord Azulon. Whew! It's over—I'm so glad.

Young Just Us: I'm glad that you are still enjoying it and haven't forgotten about it! Please continue to let me know your comments on Lu Ten, etc. I SO appreciate it.

ArrayePL: Oops! I am so glad that you caught that—I was reading a fic where lightning could be redirected as energy—Katara couldn't create it, but she could redirect it—I hope I clarified it in this chapter. (And I really suck at updating, I know. It does help when lovely people like yourself remind me in your reviews—you're awesome) At least this one is extra long!

Grandiose6: I love how Iroh bonds with Katara too! Glad you liked it!

Soten-ni-zase: First off, cool name. Thank you for the compliment! And I'm right with you on Lu Ten…oh, Lu Ten…

Guest: Thank you! You're so nice!


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